


Biggles Flies Out

by Temaris



Category: Biggles Series - W. E. Johns
Genre: Between the wars, Blackmail, M/M, Yuletide 2006
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 19:12:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temaris/pseuds/Temaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Yuletide for livii in 2006.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Biggles Flies Out

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Yuletide for livii in 2006.

"Oi, sleepyhead! If you don't get a move on, I'm not taking any responsibility for breakfast vanishing."

Ginger Hebblethwaite groaned and rolled over in his bed. "Algy!" he yelled. Biggles grinned at him from the doorway.

"You're going to have to do better than that, lad," he advised kindly, and leaned back to take a look at the breakfast table. "Coming in on the final straight for the sausages, and Lacey--"

Ginger scrambled out of bed, pyjamas twisted around him and red hair every which way. "Gerroff my brekker," he called as he stumbled past Biggles.

"Steady on there," Biggles said, a quick hand on Ginger's shoulder when he looked like falling on his face. "Algy, give the lad a break."

Algy lowered the paper and grinned over the top of it. "Certainly, left or right?"

Ginger blinked at him. "Left or right what?" he asked around a yawn. "God, I'm tired."

"Tired, eh? Is that what you brats are calling it these days?" Biggles said mildly, faint reproof in his tone.

"Arm, dear boy, left or right arm?"

Ginger tilted a scathing look at him and tugged the belt of his dressing gown closed. "Shut up," he growled, and sat, dropping his head in his hands. "God."

A filled plate appeared in front of him and he breathed in the warm, delicious smell of cooked bacon, eggs and sausage appreciatively. "Thanks."

"Don't make it a habit," Biggles said mildly, and leaned across to spear the last of the bacon. "Where were you last night?"

"I -- " Ginger frowned a little. "I went to the Alfred Arms, and I left at last orders, but --" he stopped. "I have no idea."

Biggles cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, just say it," Ginger grumbled, and pushed a sausage slowly through a pool of grease, his shoulders hunched.

"You're nineteen, and I'm not your father." Biggles shrugged, and added, "Algy, pass the toast, you lazy bugger."

Algy passed it, adding a little topspin for good measure, so it curved past Biggles' hand and to the floor.

"Now, see what you've --"

A hammering at the front door interrupted Biggles, and he glanced at Algy. Ginger looked from one to the other.

"What?"

"Early in the day for someone's outraged Papa to have found you out," Algy smirked. "Maybe the police have tracked you down after your wild night on the tiles."

Ginger leaned down, and passed the toast back, at speed. "Oi! That was my toast!" Biggles protested as Algy snatched it out of the air and took a bite with a beatific grin.

Mrs. Symes tapped on the dining room door and shook her head at them reprovingly. "A Colonel Raymond to see you, Major. Should I show him up?"

"Raymond?" Biggles stared. "In a bit of a hurry, isn't he?" He checked his watch. "Not even ten to nine." Algy shrugged at him.

"Don't look at me, old bean," he said, "I'm not the one with the dubious social life." He cleared his throat and conspicuously raised his newspaper as a barricade between himself and Ginger. "Let him in. He'll just make the doorstep untidy."

Biggles nodded to Mrs. Symes, who shook her head indulgently, and could be heard, a moment later, inviting Colonel Raymond up the stairs.

"People might," Algy said, addressing the air over the top of his paper, "want to consider how well their reputations are going to stand up to the Colonel's steely eye."

Ginger yelped, and bounced to his feet. "I'll eat in my room!" he called, and fled, plate in one hand, fork in the other. Biggles laughed softly, and stood, kicking Algy when he showed every sign of staying put.

"Colonel. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Raymond took in the room with one quick glance, and settled himself into Ginger's chair. "Don't let me interrupt your breakfast," he said, which had the effect of making Algy put his paper down and Biggles sitting up sharply from his comfortable slouch in his chair.

"The Colonel wants us to be comfortable," Biggles observed to his friend, and Algy folded his paper up neatly, and leaned forwards. "Makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

"You're remarkably suspicious for a man still at breakfast," Raymond said, a little plaintively, but his eyes twinkled, and Biggles shook his head.

"Nothing for it, sir, normal proceedings go: someone hammers on door, someone demands we place life, limb, and more to the point, aircraft, on the line for King and Country, now! This lackadaisical turn of affairs is distinctly unsettling. Besides, someone stole all the sausages."

Raymond smiled, but there wasn't much humour to it. "Young Hebblethwaite not around, I take it?"

"And neither are the sausages," Algy said dryly, "There is a connection."

Biggles threw Algy an half amused, half irritated look. "Stop being a chump for five minutes, can't you?" He looked at Raymond, a serious expression on his face. "Well, sir? Something fishy, but nothing so solid you could take it to the authorities."

Raymond grinned, an unexpected expression on his narrow face. "Something like that." His smile faded, and he drew a deep breath, "Major, Lacey," he flicked a glance at Algy, who leaned forward, face sober, eyes intent, "This could wreck the careers of a number of promising young men if it got out. We don't even really have proof, just --"

"Strong supposition?" Biggles suggested mildly, but his whole attention was on Raymond.

"Very strong, let us say," Raymond agreed. He glanced at Algy's paper, "Have you got to page six, yet?"

Algy shook his head, and turned to the required page, his eyes scanning down swiftly. They paused, and re-read something. He whistled softly and handed the article across to Biggles, who took in the headline -- _Mystery Deepens over Missing Secretary_.

"Kidnapping?"

Raymond pursed his lips. "In some ways it would be easier if they were."

"Oh?"

"There've been a spate of attacks -- daylight attacks -- on young men. The choice of targets has been -- unusual. Some are ex-Service--"

"Even so, that's a matter for the police, isn't it?"

"It would be," Raymond conceded, "except for two things." He passed Biggles a sheet of paper from his briefcase, and when Biggles went to speak, nodded at it. "Read that."

Biggles cast his eyes over it swiftly, paused, and then re-read, rather more slowly. He whistled under his breath and handed it over to Algy.

"Cutting a bit of a swathe through government, aren't they?" Algy said with a frown, "But I still don't quite see how--"

"The second thing is this: some of those boys don't exactly answer to the name on their letterhead, if you take my meaning. And they're not incapable of holding their own in fight. But there's no fight, no marks, no scuffles or disturbances. They just turn up, bruised and bloody after going missing for a day or so, no more. But when they're found, they can't remember anything for the past week." Raymond looked from one to the other. "And more to the point, papers that they had access to have ... been misplaced."

Silence weighed heavily over the sunny dining room, and Biggles carefully folded the paper into its proper alignment.

"It would be too easy if they'd been hit over the head," Algy said, and Biggles smiled faintly as Raymond sighed.

"Much too easy. We suspect drugging, something every specific. But we don't really know what the target is -- or even if there _is_ one."

"Obviously, I can't disclose how we know this, but there are hints that the Bolsheviks may be interested--"

"Interested?" Biggles said sharply. "You mean they don't--"

"No, it appears to be an unknown third party." Raymond smiled grimly, "They seem to be demonstrating the efficacy of their product -- whatever it is -- in gaining access to the most guarded areas of His Majesty's government and service."

Algy's eyebrows bobbed up. "Just to sell the product? Seems a bit wasteful."

But Biggles was already nodding. "It's a blind, sir?"

"And only a very small, select group of people know that, Bigglesworth. This information _must_ not leave this room. Not even young Hebblethwaite can know. He--"

"Morning!" Ginger grinned broadly at the three of them, and then blinked and added, "Did I interrupt?", quick to catch the tension in the room.

"Talking shop," Biggles said briefly. Ginger looked at him doubtfully, then nodded.

"OK. Look, I was going to go see some of the guys anyway, if you want me to take off?"

Biggles' quick nod at him contained approval, and Ginger smiled briefly. "Right-O," he said, then hesitated.

Algy laughed and said, "Pockets to let?"

Ginger shook his head, then nodded, a little sheepishly. "Can't miss your round, you know?"

"I know. Here." Biggles handed over a couple of sovereigns, and said, "don't lash out too fiercely. Make it last."

"Sure thing, boss!" Ginger said, bouncing on his heels.

"And Ginger --"

Ginger paused at the door.

"Watch out for yourself."

Ginger's eyebrows shot up, but all merely nodded. "Shall do. Algy. Colonel," he nodded a polite goodbye to the three men, and disappeared down the stairs. A moment later the door slammed and Biggles sat down again, still frowning somewhat.

"Best thing for him, Major."

"I'm not so sure," Biggles shook his head. A moment later he'd shaken off the odd mood, and said crisply, "So, Colonel, where do we come in?"

\-------~*~-------

Ginger tumbled the two sovereigns between his fingers in his pocket. Such largesse was unheard of, and he was pretty sure that Biggles had had something in mind. As he walked, no particular direction in mind, he thought furiously. Biggles was trying to keep him safe again, at a guess, and it had something to do with whatever business had brought Colonel Raymond to their door. And talking of that, he noted a black car across the road from Biggles and Algy's flat, presumably it had brought the Colonel along. His quick eyes took in everything, and the only thing out of place was Biggles tapping his fingers on Algy's paper. All right, then.

There was usually someone selling a paper on the corner before he got to Hyde Park. Maybe he'd find a clue to whatever was going on in it. Decision made, he walked briskly down the street towards the park, and the lad on the corner with his stack of newspapers.

He dug in his pocket and flipped a small coin at the boy, who caught it and tossed the paper at him in a long arc. Ginger grinned and caught it, then tucked it under his arm and crossed the road. A few minutes later he'd found a bench, and flicked through the paper. Celebrities doing this and that, governments arguing, trade unions, murders, robberies, burglaries... He sighed and dropped it to one side.

"You done there?"

Ginger started, then nodded politely at the questioner. "Sure," he said mildly.

The man picked it up and folded it back to the front page. "Anything interesting?"

Ginger shrugged, "Seems the same every day. Different names and places."

"You're pretty young to be so cynical," the man responded, and Ginger grinned.

"When you've been the places I've been, and done the stuff I've done, you get used to it," he said vaguely, and rose. "Good day."

"Good day," the man said, and opened the paper.

Ginger walked away, puzzled. Not the sort of thing that generally happened to him. On a train, or a busy station, well, maybe, but the park was pretty deserted this time of day. He shook his head. Sticking around Biggles and Algy was turning him into -- what had that guy said? Yeah. A real cynic.

He glanced over his shoulder and found the man looking at him -- just for a second before looking back down at the paper -- maybe just a coincidence. But...

\-------~*~-------

"Where's the damn boy got to?" Biggles muttered. "See here, Algy, you can't take all of those--" Algy was stacking maps into a box, and grinned at him.

"Sure I can," he said blithely.

"And _don't_ use those wretched Americanisms! It's bad enough when Ginger--"

Algy laughed out loud and Biggles glowered at him, until his mouth twitched, and he broke out laughing too. "Oh, fine, do as you please."

"It's not like I'm packing extra woolly jumpers for you," Algy smiled, and Biggles sobered a little.

"Algy --"

"I know. I _know_." Algy abruptly was still, his face blank and Biggles turned away, uncomfortable. "Look, do you want to go see if you can drum him up? He's probably feeding the ducks."

Biggles nodded, and headed towards the door. "Algy, you know --"

"Don't. Please," Algy said. He was completely still, one hand on the box, the other clenched at his side as he carefully stared at the maps. "I'll get a taxi for twelve."

"We can have lunch when we get to Croydon." It wasn't much of a peace offering, but it seemed to loosen the tightness in Algy's back, tense under his jacket.

"I'll see you back here by five to," Algy said, and Biggles smiled with relief.

"Five to it is then."

\-------~*~-------

Algy waited until he heard the distinctive sound of the front door closing, and let his shoulders slump. Biggles had put up with a lot over the years. He closed his eyes. _He'd_ put up with a lot, over the years. Most of the time it was so easy; and having Ginger around had helped ...

But it was more than ten years since he'd come back from a kill, and found Biggles sitting on Algy's bed, white faced, head in his hands. More than ten years since he wrapped his arms around him and hung on, and on as he shuddered against him and whispered, as though the words were driven out of him, "I thought you were dead, oh God, Algy, don't die, don't go --"

And he'd thought it was everything he'd wanted and it was _nothing_. Just year after year, close enough to touch, never allowed to. And every now and again, when he'd thought, yes, finally, he was over it, he would say something, or Biggles would say something, and he'd be back on square one, looking like a damn fool.

He squared his shoulders. He was being ridiculous. It wasn't as though it was a surprise. It just -- he lifted his head and looked out of the window, to see Biggles pause by the newspaper boy at the end of the street. The boy pointed away to the park, and Algy nodded as Biggles did. Just sometimes.

Still. They'd need the maps, and maybe he could talk Mrs. Symes into fixing them some lunch.

\-------~*~-------

Ginger was pretty much ready to explode by the time the car stopped at RAF Andover. He stared when they'd been waved through on presentation of credentials that Biggles had handed over, and now Ginger was staring raptly around the airfield.

"Come on, you've got to tell me _something_!" he said, again, and Biggles shoved a box at him.

"Make yourself useful and we'll see. It's like having a five year old," he added and neatly dodged a thrown map.

"Oi, none of that!" Algy warned stringently.

Ginger sat up sharpish. "Sorry, Algy, I was just --"

"Never mind," Algy picked up the map himself and pushed it back into the box, then took the box.

Biggles looked at Algy, then jerked his eyes away, back at Ginger. "We'll tell you once we're moving."

"Did you guys have a row or something," Ginger asked bluntly, looking from one to the other.

"Of course not," Algy said at the same time as Biggles protested, "No!"

Ginger eyed them dubiously. "No need to bite my head off," he said mildly.

Algy shook his head. "Sorry, Ginger."

"What's going on?"

"We can't --"

"I'll tell you later, Ginger," Biggles said flatly, snatching a quick look at Algy. "Better not out here."

Ginger nodded briefly. "OK." He took the big holdall that had come with them, and slung it over his shoulder. "Where to, boss?"

Biggles nodded down towards the hangars at the back of the aerodrome. "Raymond said 4C."

They walked quickly; barely even nodding to anyone they met. Ginger didn't miss the fact that he was left walking between the two cousins and old friends, who didn't speak.

The 'plane was already prepped and as they walked in, Biggles strode forward with a smile and outstretched hand. "Davy!"

Ginger stared as the mechanic turned his head, then his face broke into a big grin. "Major Bigglesworth!" He rubbed his hand on his overalls and shook firmly. "Good to see you, sir!" He peered around and grinned at Algy. "You too, laddie," he said with the informality of a man assured of his welcome. "Should have known where there's one, there's the other."

Algy smiled easily back at him, and shook hands. "Can't call me that any more, Davy," he said, propelling Ginger forward. "Ginger Hebblethwaite, Staff-Sergeant Davidson. Ginger's one of Biggles waifs and strays, Davy, dragging us into trouble at every opportunity," he added, and at Ginger's "Hey!" and punch, laughed. "Or maybe we dragged him into trouble."

"I'm just an innocent bystander," Ginger said mournfully, "I was just minding my own business, and suddenly --"

"Suddenly you're trailing Russian smugglers and mysterious Tibetan scientists, and God knows what," Biggles completed. "Don't think I've forgotten exactly who has the habit of jumping onto moving aircraft!" There was a measure of approval in the amusement, and Davidson held out his hand to him, and they shook.

"I can see you fit right in, sir. These two were mad as anything back in the old days."

Ginger smiled, pleased.

"Davy was our ack-emma in 266." Biggles explained, "Last time I saw him he was trying to work out how to string my Camel back together with baling wire and spit."

" _And_ I got it back in the air, sir. Only took a year or so," he winked. "I'm working on something a little different to the old crates now," Davidson said with a smile, and turned to look back into the hangar. "The Colonel said to expect you. Have a look at her."

He jerked his head back, and Biggles moved briskly forwards, Algy and Ginger in his wake.

"Oh, _wow_ ," Ginger said softly, stopping dead. The aircraft was clearly not flight ready, but she was beautiful, tailless, with swept-back wings and fins placed on the very tips of the wings.

"Does she fly?" Ginger asked breathlessly, his hand brushing gently over the gleaming metal.

Davidson chuckled. "Oh, she _flies_ , but the pilots aren't crazy about her. Mind you," he glanced at Biggles, "She's nothing to what Professor Hill thought up."

Biggles stared. "They're still building that thing of his with the flapping wings?"

Ginger hooted , and clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Pterodactyl," Davidson said dubiously. "Got a Mark 1A in the back there. Come back in two years and you'll see the fighter prototype."

"Might be fun," Biggles said, and Algy shook his head.

"Only crazy people become test pilots."

Biggles cocked his head at him, and smiled oddly. "Maybe it's time to branch out."

Davidson looked puzzled. "Be glad to see you back in service, Major," he said, "but I think this is what you came for."

"The new Supermarine?" Ginger said eagerly.

Davidson shrugged, "This one's newish." He nodded to the sturdy looking biplane off to the left, and Ginger's face fell.

"Don't knock it, laddie," Algy said cheerfully. "You might actually get some time at the stick on this one."

Ginger reddened, and smiled sheepishly. "I get it."

"We're heading up north, Davy," Biggles said, ignoring them.

"Everything's on board, per the Colonel's instructions."

"Then we'll be off. Ginger, get yourself up in the back, we'll pass the rest up to you."

Ginger swung himself up , and leaned back down for the bags with a sigh.

\-------~*~-------

Algy took a quick look at Biggles, and then back at the instruments. Biggles was flying the thing, heading north-west up towards Wales.

"If it really doesn't matter, then we should at least go somewhere fun," he shouted. Biggles turned and grinned at him.

"Where's the fun in that?" he shouted back. "Besides, I always fancied seeing where the wind took me!"

Algy raised his eyebrows at that. He pointed north-east, as if to say, well, we should be going that way then, but said nothing. Biggles was having more fun than he was willing to interfere with.

He slouched into the co-pilot seat, and checked on Ginger. The kid was glued to the window. Pilot's licence and ground engineer cert, flown over four of the continents, and still he was enchanted by flying. Algy closed his eyes and settled down. Biggles hadn't been enchanted by flying in a very long time.

And Algy -- Algy flew because that's where Biggles was.

\-------~*~-------

The change in the sound of the engine woke him. "You want to take the stick?" Biggles asked, and Algy nodded. Biggles pointed down and right, and in the evening light, Algy could see a lake.

He brought the amphibian down gently, and taxied her over towards an unoccupied pier, where a couple of locals were staring at them.

"Hullo! There somewhere to stay around here?" Biggles called.

The younger of the men nodded. "The old Thorn and Crown," he said. "Up the road that way. Maybe ten minute walk."

"Thanks."

He pulled the window too and said, "Best get started, then."

Algy closed his eyes. This wasn't fair.

"Algy?" Biggles sounded worried, when he looked, Biggles was frowning and had a hand half held out.

"Look, if you don't -- "

"No. No. It's fine. We better explain to Ginger, you know. He'll smell an eight week rat if we just go straight in."

Biggles smiled wryly at him. "I'll take care of it."

Funnily, that didn't help. Ginger's case of hero worship had mutated, with time and familiarity, to strong affection and admiration. The man was more worthy of respect than the legend, Ginger confided once. How easy it would be.

He wasn't going to think about it.

"Don't leave it too long," he said mildly, and escaped from the confines of the cockpit as quickly as he could without landing in the lake.

He took his kitbag and began up the road. Biggles could explain better without him around. Then the practicalities of it struck him, and he couldn't help chuckling. Yes. Let Biggles deal with this one.

\-------~*~-------

The rooms were comfortable, and Ginger was positively gleeful at getting one to himself.

"All mine!" he said, and bounced on the bed. The mattress dented deeply, and Biggles shook his head.

"You break it, you pay for it."

Ginger bounced again, the bed creaked ominously, and Ginger suddenly looked like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"I'll see you at dinner," he said, cravenly, and Ginger stood.

"Hi, wait up! You never actually said what we're doing here?"

Biggles hesitated for a second, then closed the door and settled primly on the straightbacked chair, which was already festooned with Ginger's clothing, chucked haphazardly from his kitbag.

"Mind the togs!"

"Mind 'em yourself!" he said. "If you hung them up..."

"When did you turn into my Ma?" Ginger demanded. Biggles put his hands up pacifically, and Ginger settled. "Well then."

"Raymond suggested that --" he struggled to think of a way to put this that wasn't going to just sound terrible, but it had been terrible enough in the sunny little dining room, with the remnants of breakfast. Sitting in a private room in a quiet, out of the way Welsh pub was not any better.

He didn't realise that he was wringing his hands until Ginger flopped onto the bed and scowled at him.

"How bad can it be?"

"It's not important. The important thing is, you need to keep an eye out for me and Algy, and if you see anything untoward; people taking an interest, that sort of thing -- well. Let us know. And if we go missing--"

"You think that's likely?" Ginger seemed pleased rather than otherwise at the prospect.

"You needn't be so damned cheerful at the notion!"

"Sorry, chief," Ginger said, with a complete lack of penitence. "So, be on the watch for shifty characters who look like they're about to kidnap you?"

Biggles considered trying again, and threw it in as a bad job. "Good lad. Dinner's at seven, and you'd best clean up."

"Biggles?" Ginger was looking at him entirely seriously. "Either I'm your backup, or I'm not."

"If we didn't trust you, you wouldn't be here."

"You said that already too. That would work better if you told me what awful thing you're expecting to happen."

"Well. Nothing. We're going to talk to someone tomorrow, and then we're going to --

"Await developments. Yes, I got that. But _what_? Gun runners? White slavers? Bolshevists? Fascists? Drug dealers?"

"You go to the cinema too much by half, my lad," Biggles said, amused despite himself. "Dinner. At seven. Be late and I'll feed yours to Algy."

\-------~*~-------

Dinner was a jolly affair, but Algy was tense all the way through. More than once he missed a cue, and could feel Biggles' hazel eyes on him, watching him with something between puzzlement and fear. The fear was priceless. Fifteen official kills, and more that had never been booked, and this is what it took to see fear again in Biggles' eyes.

"I'll take the floor," he said once they'd shut the door to their room.

"Don't be an ass," Biggles snapped, and then stopped. "I'm sorry. I'm just --"

"Let me take the floor."

"And if we _are_ being watched?" he asked, very softly. He walked over and turned on the radio. Classical music filled the room.

"Raymond can go hang!" Algy said. He felt about ready to punch something, someone. Preferably Raymond, although Biggles would do.

God. What was he thinking? He dropped into the one comfortable chair and rubbed a hand over his forehead, staring at the floor.

"Algy--"

Algy looked up at him deliberately, and said, "James."

And they were back again for just a second; wrapped up tightly together in a narrow little cot in a rickety, draughty hut set on the open floodplains of the Somme. The dull pounding of shells and mortars tossed too an fro across the Front punctuated the night, but as a distant drum, nothing that meant anything in that place, in that moment.

"Don't call me that." Biggles said abruptly, turning away to look out of the window.

"Still her?"

Biggles was completely motionless for long minutes, until Algy slumped. "Forget it. I shouldn't have asked."

"Not --" He stopped, sounding as though the words grated in his throat. "Not because it was her name for me. Because it's not yours."

Algy flinched.

"No, I didn't mean it like that --" Algy looked up and found Biggles watching him in the reflection of the window.

"I'm tired, Biggles," he said, and pushed up out of the chair. "Good night."

A hand touched his shoulder, tentatively, and he waited. The touch was light, and it felt like a lead weight, a vice; so secure that he could never remove it for himself. "Well?" he asked, when the silence between grew to drown even the Bach concerto humming from the radio.

"You call me Biggles," he said slowly. "That's -- that's who I am, with you."

"You're not actually making this any better," Algy said dryly, because it was the only way to keep from breaking.

"Marie --"

"Marie Janis had everything I ever wanted," Algy said softly, and the hand on his shoulder tightened, pulled. He didn't follow it.

Marie had called him James. Of course she had. There wasn't anything that Algy had of Biggles that she hadn't had first -- first love, first bedding, first name ... and at the end, she'd died and kept him. He'd lived and lost.

Still, always, Marie. The taste was bitter.

"Algy --"

"If you want this to work, we should go to bed," he said brusquely, and pulled away. He picked up his wash kit and went for the bathroom.

The man in the mirror looked pale and empty. He didn't meet his eyes.

When he opened the bathroom door, Biggles was there, and he sidled past him with a muttered, "All yours."

The irony of that only caught him as he put his hand on the bedroom doorknob. He kept moving. He'd walked out of hell once. Here, no one was shooting at him.

He pulled on his pyjamas, and took the window side of the bed. Biggles could put up with sleeping nearest the door.

\-------~*~-------

_A hand pressed on his shoulder and he let his head drop back down. Biggle's hand stayed there, thumb moving slowly over his skin. Algy sighed, carefully, trying not to let anything through._

_"I don't --"_

_"It's all right, Biggles," Algy said, and felt him wince. He bit his lip, with the effort to ask, would you prefer 'captain'? Maybe 'cousin', just to remind you that my mother would kill you if she could see us now. Or chief, like I'm fixing your damn engines every time they rev over._

_Biggles' arm was warm over his back, sharp contrast to the chill of the night air. The blankets were tangled around their feet, too warm. He thought about kicking them up the narrow cot, but too much flailing around would dump one or both of them on the ground, where it was even colder. Biggles' body was warm, and Algy shivered against him, pushing in closer. As though Biggles was the one who'd gone fucking missing that night. as though Biggles was the one who'd gone out to take on that one Hun. As though Biggles had been the one shot down and thought lost._

_He'd walked back from a landing so close to crashed that only his ability to jump out and run before the doped fabric and wooden struts erupted in flames differentiated it from total disaster. Biggles hadn't seen him get out. Hadn't seen anything except the explosion in the trees, and the long silence..._

_War, flying, and cousin James. They had been such a powerful call so very few weeks ago. He'd been a boy, dreaming of heroes, and he'd found a man, flawed, perilous and mortal. Now, it was Biggles, and flying -- love one, love the other. Algy didn't care. It seemed logical, inevitable. Perfect. Real._

_Light crept in around the curtains, at the foot of the ill-fitting door. Biggles' chest was pale and hairless in the dim light, and Algy ran his hand over it, touching, learning. Daybreak was probably only an hour or two away, and Biggles' batman would be along soon. If he found the two of them huddled up like a pair of frightened kiddies ... he wouldn't say anything. No one would._

_Algy shivered, smiled, closed his eyes. He burrowed in closer, and Biggles' arm tightened on him. There was a brush of thin lips on his forehead, and they shifted against each other in the half-dark, Biggles' lips tracking down, lightly over the cuts from the broken glass that had blown out of the Camel's cockpit. Brushed against his lips carefully; the feel of it jolting right through Algy, and then they were kissing desperately, Biggles twisting them both until he was lying on top of Algy, his hands in Algy's hair, holding him close as their bodies pushed and trove against each other._

_He was warm, better than warm, pressed between the mattress and Biggles' body, both of them more than ready to take this past any resemblance to brotherly affection. Algy stuttered , "Oh, oh, god, Biggles," and shoved upwards, shook hard, then held still. He could feel his face burning with embarrassment, and above him, Biggles kissed him again and again, kissing into laughter, laughing into kisses, until he couldn't tell the difference._

_He struggled to get out, and Biggles whispered, "Shh, hold on," and somehow he was twisted around in the bed, face down. He wrenched his head to the side, gasping for air away from the musty smell of the mattress. He shook when Biggles moved over him and settled against him, fitting closely along his back and thighs. Too closely. Biggles pushed gently and Algy bit off a sound, even he wasn't sure if it was a groan of protest or something else. "Shh," Biggles said again, and his hands were between them, cool and wet, rubbing against Algy's buttocks, and then between, and then inside, eliciting a small gasp. Little touches, Biggles' mouth, kissing, licking, his cheek dragging against Algy's skin, the faint touch of bristles sparking something hot and unsettling in his belly. he pushed upwards, and Biggles pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades, and pressed downwards, inwards._

_"Bloody --" Algy gasped out, and Biggles held still. "Bloody, bloody, bloody." He stopped, breathing hard, and the twisting, intrusive pain eased. He tightened himself instinctively, trying to stop it, hold it, _something_ , and when Biggles groaned into his back he stopped. _

_"Algy?" Biggles was breathing hard, he could feel his breath on his skin, the way his chest rolled against Algy's back, in and out, skin pressing and parting in tiny increments, sweaty and smooth._

_He couldn't manage words, but his, "Unh," seemed to contain whatever thing that Biggles had been seeking, and he moved again, this time moving inwards, pushing him wider and wider open._

_"Algy?"_

"Algy?" A hand on his shoulder jolted him, and Algy's eyes snapped open. In a split second, he took in the way he was pressed up against Biggles' body, his own state of excitement, the icy shock that it had been a dream, a vivid, accurate dream, and jerked away so hard he landed on the floor, half the blankets caught around him.

"Sorry!" he gasped out, "God, I'm sorry!" and sat utterly still, waiting for whatever would befall.

"You all right there?" Light flooded the room. Algy put a hand up, blinking against the brightness, blocking Biggles' face. "Algy? You awake?"

He shook his head, and laughed a little high. Oh God. "I'm fine," he said hardily. "Let me get up and I'll fix this." He might have meant the scattered bedding. He might have meant anything -- it was just something to say, that filled in the hollow of his mistakes.

Then Biggles was crouched next to him. "You didn't crack your head on the stand, did you?" he asked. "Algy?"

"No. Just -- a bad dream."

Biggles' lips twitched. "That so?"

Algy eyed him. The light from the little bedside lamp wasn't really so very bright, but it illuminated Biggles' expression -- amusement and concern and affection, all mixed up together.

No recognition, no awareness. No memory.

Algy unscrambled himself, and accepted Biggles' hand up. "Sorry," he said again, and Biggles shoved at him, smiling.

"If you're going to have the screaming ab-dabs, the least you can do is wake Ginger too," he said mildly. "Here." He stripped the bed in one swift move, and the two of them swiftly re-made it.

"Not quite Bristol-fashion, I fancy," Biggles muttered at the bulky lump that was Algy's attempt at tight corners.

"Have at, Mrs. Beeton," Algy said generously, and Biggles grinned at him.

"Not I! I'm going back to my blessed repose, and you should too. You look like you could do with some beauty sleep." He paused thoughtfully, and added, "Of course, that could take some time--"

Algy declined to be baited, and laughed. "I'm not the vain one around here."

Biggles crawled back into his side of the big bed. "Sleep!" he ordered.

"That's no way to win a barney," Algy said, but quietly, and curled up himself listening to the soft snuffles that were Biggles' almost-snores. It was a long time before he slept.

\-------~*~-------

A hammering on the door woke Algy and he groaned, dropping an arm across his face.

"Hoi! Show a leg!" Ginger called through the door.

"I'll show him a leg all right," Biggles muttered darkly. "What time do you call this?" he called back.

"Time you got a watch!" Ginger riposted cheekily and from the continued safety of the other side of the door.

Biggles rolled out of bed and pulled on his dressing gown, and cinched the belt tight before yanking the door wide open. He stepped back a little, and laughed heartlessly as Ginger tumbled in.

"Got a trespasser, Mr. Lacey." Biggles put a bare foot on Ginger's chest and leaned.

"So we have, Mr. Bigglesworth," Algy said solemnly. "Nicely caught," he added, peering at the grinning pair. "Hang it as an example for the others."

"It'll come out tough and gamey," Biggles said, and reached a hand down to help Ginger up. "What's all this?"

"It's nearly eight, and Mrs. Price says breakfast won't keep all day."

"All day? We're barely out of night," Algy protested, and at a look from Biggles, "Oh, aye, I'm mum," and rolled out of bed. "Tell Mrs. Price we'll be down in ten." Ginger nodded and vanished down the stairs in a clatter.

Ten minutes later they were all tucking into a delicious breakfast.

"So, what're we up to today?" Ginger asked.

"Got a little place up the valley we need to see," Biggles said. "There's some questions being asked about what's going on up there."

Ginger looked up quickly. "Is that what the Colonel said?" he said and Biggles hushed him.

"Not here."

"Not on the plane, not in the car, not anywhere, seems like," Ginger said, looking a little irritated. "If you don't --"

"It's important no one knows we're here for any reason other than a vacation," Biggles said quietly. Ginger sat back, but at a quick hand gesture, said nothing.

Mrs. Price was approaching, teapot in hand, "Tea, coffee?" she asked, and once tea was served all round, departed.

The breakfast room was empty apart from them, and a couple of hikers. They didn't seem like a threat, but Algy knew from long experience that Biggles trusted his own instincts; nothing he would say could change his decision to keep quiet.

"You boys off up the hills, then," Mrs. Price asked the hikers as she poured them tea.

A quiet, cultured voice said, "Just up to Bar-Affon, Mrs. Price. I don't suppose we'll get much further without proper supplies."

"Not and be back for dinner," she agreed. "Mr. Jacobsen, can I get you anything?"

The second hiker grunted a no, and Mrs. Price pursed her lips disapprovingly. "We'll see you at seven then?"

"About that," the first man said with a smile, and her face thawed a little.

"I'll see you then, Mr. Edwards. Mr. Jacobsen," she nodded more coolly to the second, and headed for what Algy presumed was the kitchen.

Algy and Biggles looked at each other. Bar -Affon was where they had been planning to go.

"Did you bring the map?" Biggles asked quietly, and Algy nodded. "You lads done?" he went on, and they pushed the breakfast plates aside, clearing a space for the map.

"It's not got much on it," Ginger observed disapprovingly.

"There's not much up here," Algy told him. "Look! There's Bar-"

"Quietly," Biggles said lowly, lips barely moving. "No, Ginger, don't look over there." But he was too late.

"You boys thinking of walking up the river today?" Edwards called across from their table. "Maybe we could join up. Good company always cheers up a long walk, and there's meant to be a very fine waterfall towards the end of the valley."

"They won't want to be coming along with us," Jacobsen said abruptly. "Come on, Ted." He stood up, "We should be on our way if we want to be back in time for dinner." There was an edge of mockery to his voice and Edwards visibly winced.

"Walking together sounds --"

"Don't bother the gentlemen, Ginger," Biggles said mildly, his eyes like flint. "We won't be leaving until later. Much, later." He held Jacobsen' eyes until the man flushed, and turned away.

"Maybe tomorrow," Edwards said, and at Jacobsen' insistent, "Come _on_ , Ted!", sighed. "Bill's just eager to be off. We'll see you at dinner? Good!"

"Odd couple," Algy said softly.

"Aren't they just!" Biggles agreed, his eyes still on them.

"Didn't want us along on their little jaunt."

"Seems that way, doesn't it."

"If you two don't stop it, I'm going redecorate with some of that left over marmalade," Ginger said, reaching for the article in question.

Biggles raised a hand slightly. A shadow darkened the window for a second, and Algy rose silently, and glanced out without exposing himself. He nodded to Biggles, who dropped his eyes to his hands for a moment, as though uncertain what to say.

"There've been some problems with -- interesting information-- going astray," he said very quietly. Ginger looked over at Algy, who kept his eyes firmly on the outside area. "That was what the Colonel was asking us to help with."

"And he thinks it's coming here?"

"He thinks ... there's a common element to all the incidents."

"There's someone here selling secrets to the Russians?" Ginger asked in an excited whisper.

"What _are_ you watching at the cinema?" Biggles complained. "Did I say anything about Russians? We don't know. Someone certainly tried to sell it to the papers. Fortunately, Whitehall got wind of it beforehand, and scotched that, but it could have been enormously damaging."

Outside, Jacobsen and Edwards were heading up the road, Edwards a little ahead, moving at a brisk, almost irritated pace. Algy watched them until they disappeared behind a bend in the road. Over at the table, Biggles was still walking a fine line between trusting his friend, and keeping his word to Raymond.

He does it very well, Algy thought absently, all that practice must come in handy. Then he caught himself. Stop that, he told himself. It doesn't help. Even if it was true.

The scraping of chairs caught his attention and he followed the pair of them upstairs.

"We're really going walking up that valley?" Algy asked, bemused. He laid the map down on the bed. "Us?"

"What's wrong with walking?"

"What apart from you not doing it, ever?"

"Time I practiced then, hey?"

Algy shook his head. "Is it going to do any good?"

Biggles rummaged in his kit-bag, and pulled out his service Webley revolver, loaded it from a packet of cartridges, tucked the gun into a deep coat pocket and jammed the remainder of the packet in after them. He looked up, finally, and said, "All the good in the world, old boy, don't you see?"

Algy shook his head, and Biggles perched on the edge of the dresser.

"Algy --" Biggles began, an odd note in his voice, "trust me. If we--"

"You ready?" Ginger burst in, and for a second Biggles looked furious at the interruption. Ginger recoiled. "You guys still arguing?"

Biggles forced a smile. "No, just discussing. You ready?" he said directly to Algy, who nodded.

"Go on down," he said to them. "I'll be there in a minute."

"Mrs. Price said she'd make us up lunches," Ginger said, "I can go ask her, if you want?"

"We'll see you downstairs, Algy." Biggles dropped a hand on Ginger's shoulder and steered him out of the bedroom. "Good thinking, kid," he heard him saying as the door closed, and then it shut, and the room was quiet again, and Algy sat on the bed. He reached mechanically for his own bag, and pulled out his gun.

Distantly he could hear Ginger's voice. The kid's clarion tones could cut through solid stone, it seemed. He turned the gun over in his hand, found the cartridges and loaded them, one by one. The rest went in an inside pocket.

Still he didn't move. Raymond had said -- Raymond had implied --

He smiled. There wasn't any humour in it. He felt colder than the room warranted; maybe he was coming down with something. He had a cold, and his hand slipped and -- A quiet, out of the way place. An accident with a gun. Was that what Raymond had meant? When he said that they could help each other? Or was it just as straightforward as it seemed: attacks, secrets, diplomats. Newspapers. Scandals.

_I must be able to rely on your absolute discretion in this matter."_

Biggles didn't seem bothered, and all Algy could do was follow his lead. He laughed, a hard sort of sound.

_"I don't quite follow you, sir."_

_"Do you not? Well, good for you."_

How would anyone know? A fifteen year, two man secret. What did he know? What would he do?

"An everlasting cold," he muttered, and shook himself. "Forget it, Lacey," he said softly, and put the gun away.

Was it cowardice to keep soldiering on? Funny sort of cowardice.

_Algy, trust me--_

Funny sort of hope.

\-------~*~-------

Two hours saw them halfway along the floor of the valley, at a fording point in the river. Ginger was bouncing to and fro, full of energy.

"We going to stop for lunch soon?" he asked eagerly. "We could eat here and cross the river and go on up that way." He pointed at the most precipitous section of the otherwise gentle valley. The river deepened under it, cutting in deep under it, tumbling noisily over heavy boulders before spreading out into wide shallows of a ford.

"If you want to catch your death and break your neck in one go, feel free," Biggles told him cheerfully. "We could catch up on drowning you at birth."

"I bet I could get up there."

"I bet you could too," Algy said amiably. "Go on, save us the trouble of a funeral. If there's any crossing to be done, personally, I'm waiting for the ford."

"After lunch," Ginger decided, eying the rushing water. "For ballast."

""You only had breakfast an hour ago," Biggles observed. "Hey, Algy, looks like we've managed to pick up a bottomless pit somewhere."

"Hey!"

"Picked up? I've been trying to get rid of him for years," Algy teased.

"Hey! None of that!" Biggles protested, and Ginger laughed.

"Where's the house?" Ginger called.

"House?"

"You know. Where we were going to investigate--"

Biggles lowered his voice. "Further up the valley. Shouldn't see it for a while yet."

"If we see it at all," Ginger said doubtfully. He pointed upwards towards the lower reaches of the mountain. "Wasn't that higher half an hour ago?"

"Good eyes," Biggles said after a momentary pause. "Clouds coming down off the mountains aren't going to help."

"We've got a map, right? We'll be fine," Ginger declared. He hesitated and added, "Right?"

Algy looked at Biggles, and met hazel eyes. "Map's not detailed, Biggles," he warned. "And I'm not keen on the way the ground is feeling."

"What do you mean?" Ginger asked, but Biggles was shaking his head.

"Algy's right." He stamped his boot on the rich grass. "Hear that?" The soft squelch and suck were quite clear when they weren't all moving and talking. "You've been standing still there. Move your feet." They stuck for a second, and Ginger made haste to find a boulder to perch on.

"What now, chief?"

"I'm guessing there's been a lot of rain recently," Biggles said. He perched on his own boulder and frowned.

"In Wales?" Algy said with feigned astonishment, "Rain?"

"Oh, go soak your head," Biggles jibed back with a grin that Algy returned. "I suppose we'll just keep on. If we work our way further up the hillside we should be fine -- we just need to keep out of this middle area." He was about to go on when Ginger sat up straight, peering into the rapidly lowering cloud cover.

"Hullo! What's going on up there?" He pointed up the side of the valley, and sprang to his feet, taking a couple of steps forwards. They looked in the direction he indicated, and for a moment, Algy couldn't make out anything. "Looks like those fellows from this morning, if you ask me. And they're not playing around either. Look at that!" Ginger ran straight for the bank of the river and ran through the shallows, heading straight for the narrow path winding up the side of the valley.

Algy squinted and caught the outline of a couple of dark shapes struggling together up on the hillside, an arm taking a wild punch, and started running after Ginger. As they got closer it became clear that the men were fighting, slipping and shoving at each other, high enough up that if one of them lost their footing --

"Hi! You! Up there! What are you doing?" Biggles yelled. It looked to be Jacobsen and Edwards. Jacobsen was hanging onto Edwards' arm, and as they scrambled up the path towards them both men fell. For a moment they teetered precariously on the edge of the path, dangerously close to tumbling onto the rocks and river below.

"Hey!" Ginger yelled, and then time seemed to slow -- the silhouette of a gun in one man's hand; Ginger running towards it, skidding to a halt, hands lifting, backing up, too little, much too late. Algy had his own gun in his hand, he knew Biggles was pacing him, both running all out now, desperate to get into effective range. The sharp retort of a gun.

Ginger dropped like a stone.

"Get him!" Biggles said, and Algy nodded. Scant seconds later he skidded to his knees by Ginger. He was face down, twisted awkwardly. The ground was soaking, and as he looked the back of Ginger's jacket darkened with blood.

He carefully rolled Ginger onto his back, and took in the damage. The boy was unconscious, but breathing, his chest moving steadily. The shot had gone in high in his left shoulder. He pulled off his own jacket, and his shirt, then ripped the back of it, folding it into a pad and tying it in place with the sleeves. Blood spotted even through the layers in seconds, and he gritted his teeth.

"Come on, kid, wake up," he said urgently, slapping lightly at his face. "No time to be lollygagging."

Ginger didn't respond, and cold gathered in the pit of Algy's stomach. He looked at the steep sheep track that they'd come up. "Damn it, Ginger, wake up!"

"Fine. If I break my neck, it's your fault." He stood and with a grunt, hoisted Ginger over his shoulder. The boy was more solid than when they'd first met him, a skinny teenager more interested in planes and flying than working in a shop. "We need to cut your meals. One a day is more than enough if we're going to have to haul you about like this." He moved cautiously, one arm around Ginger's legs, one on the side of the hill. "I ought to just roll you."

Ginger groaned and Algy made the split second decision to keep moving. Another gun shot cracked loudly, followed by the whine of a ricochet. He kept moving, slowly, carefully.

Shouts in the distance. The light was greying out, not so much low lying clouds and all out fog. The mist eddied and shifted, dark shapes looming only to prove to be rocks or trees.

The ground flattened out and he lowered Ginger. "Come on, kid," he muttered. Ginger groaned, low and pained, and Algy breathed a sigh of relief. "There you are. Upsadaisy."

"Wha-- Algy?"

"Keep still. You got yourself shot, and I don't know what Biggles has got himself into." He couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything. Surely the fog wouldn't deaden all sound completely?

"Be fine."

"Him or you?" Algy asked grimly, not really expecting an answer.

"Both. Better." A cold hand gripped at Algy's wrist and he looked back down at Ginger. "Go."

He hesitated a second, then nodded. "Thank you." And headed back up.

\-------~*~-------

"Put it down!" Biggles held his gun pointing steadily at Jacobsen. The man barely even flickered his attention away from Edwards.

"Butt out!"

"Can't do that. You just shot one of my friends. Now, put the gun down, or I'll be forced to shoot."

Edwards scrambled backwards towards Biggles. "Shoot! You've got to stop him! He's mad!"

"I'm not the one who's mad," Jacobsen said, "or if I am, you drove me there." His gun hand wavered, aiming uncertainly somewhere between Biggles and Edwards. "Get back, and I won't hurt you," he said. "This is just between us."

"Can't do that."

"Sorry to hear that," Edwards said in a completely different voice and pulled a small gun from his breast pocket and fired. Jacobsen shot almost simultaneously, and Biggles flinched back, jerking his gun hand upwards away from any mischance. He took a quick step forward and kicked at Edwards' wrist, and the gun went flying over the edge of the path.

"No! You idiot! He'll kill us both!"

Biggles shrugged. "Better than you doing it." He stepped back from Edwards, and aimed at him. "Jacobsen, don't be a damned fool. Put the gun down. You're safe."

Jacobsen looked up, startled, hope dawning in his eyes.

"You know?"

Biggles shook his head. "The gun. Now! I'm willing to change my mind about who this should be pointing at." He looked at Jacobsen for a split second and Edwards launched himself upwards at him. The gun went off, and then they both fell.

\-------~*~-------

Algy scrambled up the path, feet slipping on the fog soaked grass. Biggles would be expecting him, surely. He pulled his revolver out, holding it low as he hurried.

Up ahead, voices. He paused, trying to make out the words, but he needed to be nearer. He edged forward.

_"No! You idiot! He'll kill us both!"_

Algy moved noiselessly up the path, toe and heel, testing every foothold before putting his weight down. A shape loomed out of the mist, and he felt something tight ease at the sight. Biggles; he'd know him anywhere.

_" Jacobsen, don't be a damned fool. Put the gun down. You're safe."_

He stepped slightly to the side, ready to back him up -- the wrong side, too far away to do anything but grab at empty air as Biggles jerked backwards and then fell, taking his opponent with him.

"I guess that narrows it down," Algy said calmly. "Are you armed?" He could barely see Jacobsen through the mist. "Speak up man! I've already got two wounded, you better hope you're not going to be three."

"I'm putting it down," Jacobsen said, chastened.

"Slide it across to me."

A faint clunk suggested the gun had hit a rock en route. Close enough. Algy stepped forwards, gun at the ready. A shadow moved in the fog, and he snapped, "That's far enough!" He glanced down, spotted the gun, and hooked it back to himself with one foot. "Don't move!" He ducked down and scooped the gun up, taking a second to check whether it was loaded. Three cartridges. Four gone. He tipped them out, checked the barrel, and jammed the empty weapon through his belt.

"Who are you?" Jacobsen asked warily.

"Lacey. Algy Lacey. A friend sent us from Five."

Jacobsen jerked, and then said despairingly, "It's all over then?"

"Nothing's _over_ , you hear me?" he said fiercely, and stopped, startled. When had that happened?

"But, they know -- "

"They _guess_ , and I have a friend who is willing to offer you amnesty. Get a little of your own back. You can't be blackmailed any more, understand?"

"What -- how?" Jacobsen sounded shell shocked, and Algy bit his lip. Explanations could come later.

"We've got to get Edwards first," he said, and Jacobsen nodded.

"I can help."

"Good. You can start by getting us down this infernal path," he told him. "What possessed you to come up here anyway?"

"Edwards -- Edwards said. He saw you down there, and he said--"

And the ice was back. He shoved Jacobsen into the side of the path, arm across his throat. "Saw _what_?" he snarled. "Saw _nothing_ , that's what he saw."

Jacobsen just smiled at him, an oddly easy expression. "Nothing at all." He leaned forwards and brushed a kiss against Algy's cold lips, then pulled back, his eyes kind, as though he were the rescuer, and Algy the one in need of saving.

Algy pulled back sharply, shocked cold. He'd jumped -- to the wrong conclusion. And it didn't matter. Everything he knew and still, still surprised. He closed his eyes for a second, and whispered, "We have to go." Jacobsen nodded, and gestured as though to say, 'after you'. Algy stumbled as he turned away, and headed down the path, too fast. Biggles was down there somewhere.

Biggles was alive down there. Somewhere.

The rush of water grew louder as he reached the bottom, and almost tripped over Ginger, who was stumbling towards the water, his good hand holding a revolver that neither Algy nor Biggles had given him.

"Where did that come from?" Algy demanded. "And what do you think you're doing you young ass?"

"Algy!" Ginger clutched at him, and Algy looked at him sharply, really seeing him, and seriously worried. His hands were freezing, his face translucently pale with blood loss or cold. "What happened -- something fell--" His eyes were dark and wide. "Where's Biggles?"

"Come on," he said, ignoring all his questions. Jacobsen emerged from the fog and cleared his throat. "Introductions later," Algy snapped. "Rescue Biggles first."

Ginger got paler, little as it seemed possible. "It was him then, " he said.

"Help him," Algy ordered Jacobsen. He strode ahead, scouring the ground at every step, hoping to see --

A slumped figure in the water, lodged against a boulder, swaying with the current. He'd know it anywhere, washed back and forth in the water, no; he waded into the fast running river, barely aware of yelling. He seized the back of the sodden collar, lifted the heavy form up enough to see the angle of the jaw, the line of cheekbone and nose, and nearly fell. Not Biggles. He barely cared enough to drag the body back up out of the torrent, its head hanging at an unnatural angle that told him all he needed to know about what had happened to Edwards.

With a concerted effort he heaved the body onto the shoal, and dropped his hands to his thighs, breathing hard. Just a second, one second, just to catch his breath.

And then, shouting, and hard hands on his shoulders, shaking him, "Are you all right? Algy? Hi! _Algy_?"

Dazed, he stared into Biggles' anxious eyes, and cupped his hands around his face. Not dead then.

"Am _I_ all right, you idiot?" he shouted, furious with relief. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

Biggles' smile was slow, and managed to make the cold and wet, and dead body -- and Ginger, standing bemused, leaning on a grinning Jacobsen -- fade out.

He looked at him, and smiled back.

\-------~*~-------

"So, Edwards was kidnapping these fellows, then blackmailing 'em?" Ginger said, and picked another grape from the bunch.

Biggles nodded, "Sometimes the other way around, just for variety. You know, you could share some of those, you miserable fruit-hog," he observed, and reached over. Ginger clutched them closer to him.

"Did you get shot? I think not. Did you save the day? I think not."

"Wait a minute, my lad," Colonel Raymond said, amused, "How do you reckon that?"

"Edwards was going to kill Bill," Ginger nodded across to Bill Jacobsen, who was looking a little the worse for wear, but remarkably serene for a man who had been in peril of his life not two days before. "And I stopped him." He popped another grape in his mouth with an air of smug superiority.

"When you're out of that bed, boy-o, there will be a reckoning," Algy grumbled, but he was smiling.

"I think as it worked out, it was a group effort," Biggles said dryly. "And if you hadn't bounded up there like a young mountain goat, maybe we'd have had Edwards in custody, and a list of who he'd blackmailed, and who his contacts were." Biggles' gaze slid up to Algy, and away, no more than a flicker.

"Damned shame," Raymond said mildly. "Still. Whatever he was up to, he's safely dead, and I imagine there's not a few people who'd be glad to know that all his papers were burned."

Jacobsen looked unrepentant. ""I should have been more careful to put out that cigarette before we left."

"Lucky it didn't burn the pub down," Raymond said.

"Was rather, wasn't it?" Algy agreed blithely.

"Well, if there's nothing else --?" No one spoke. "Then I'll be on my way. Careful of that shoulder, young man," he admonished, and Ginger nodded.

"Yes, sir."

"And good job." He looked at each of them in turn. "All of you. A dashed unpleasant business, but I don't think there is any further action my department will have to take over this. No. A very good job."

And if his gaze lingered a little on Algy, sat on the arm of Biggles' chair, and on Biggles, bruised, eyes puffy and half shut, slumped against him, well, he said nothing; and neither did anyone else.

\-------~*~-------

The flat was quiet, Ginger had gone out for the evening, insisting that the black sling he was affecting would be a sure fire sympathy winner.

Biggles was pacing, and Algy looked up at him indulgently. "We'll drive up there next week, get the boat back when you're fit enough to fly it. I'm sorry I left it up there, but at the time getting you all to a hospital seemed a little more urgent."

"That's not -- Algy, I didn't forget." Biggles stood quite still by the hearth, looking down into the fire.

"What -- what?" Algy asked, flummoxed. "Biggles, I'm--"

"Sorry. I heard you the first time. Don't be." Biggles hand couldn't possibly be on his face. "I think I owe the bigger apology." He dropped to one knee by Algy's chair, and ran his hand down from Algy's face, cupping his jaw. Algy didn't move. It couldn't be BIggles' hand on his face, brushing tender fingers over his skin. Impossible. "I never forgot; I just couldn't bear the thought of losing you too." He closed his eyes for a second. "And I almost did anyway."

"It wasn't safe," Algy said roughly. "I knew that as well as you. I always did."

"I shouldn't have chanced it --"

"I trust you, you idiot." He laughed. "And now --"

"Now there are too many tangles for Raymond's people to ever risk -- whatever they might have risked," Biggles finished. "And now..." He smiled boyishly, and stood, pulling Algy up to his feet, so they were standing together, almost touching. He slipped his hand to the back of Algy's neck, his other resting on his waist. Algy's hands gravitated to Biggles' waist, and they stood like that for a long minute, reading the words they didn't have in each other's face.

"Is this, is this for Raymond?" Algy whispered, lips almost touching. Almost sure.

"This is for us," Biggles said, and kissed him.


End file.
